


Nanny State

by BarPurple



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, Molly being an awesome godmother, Mycroft being a human being, Post - Six Thatchers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-28
Updated: 2017-01-28
Packaged: 2018-09-20 11:35:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9489272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BarPurple/pseuds/BarPurple
Summary: John and Sherlock aren't speaking. Molly is caring for Rosie, and Mycroft steps up as a temporary godfather.





	

Mycroft was doing his best to repair the rift between Sherlock and John, but inter-personal relationships were not international disputes; the tactics he could use on countries did not work as well on individuals, especially ones as stubborn as John Watson. For once in Mycroft’s adult life, Sherlock wasn’t the stumbling block to an easy solution; John was refusing to take call, answer texts, or be effectively stalked by various agents. Mycroft could have accepted this pig-headedness, even admired it in a way, but John was insisting on holding on to his anger rather than holding his daughter and that was unacceptable.

At least there was one doctor in the child’s life who was steadfast and true.

Molly Hooper had risen to the occasion and once more in Mycroft’s opinion. The shy pathologist hid a back bone of steel beneath her strange fashion sense. Mycroft would admit he had been reluctant to involve her in the Fall, but she had taken it all in her stride to the point he’d considered having her lecture the supposed professionals under his purview. He’d giggled with delight when he’d been told of the dressing down she’d given his high-as-a-kite brother, but even that paled in comparison to her skillful and caring handling of Rosamund Watson.

Even after a six hour shift in St. Barts’ morgue, (there had been no difficulty in having her hours reduced, he’d made sure of that), Molly was able to smile and babble with the baby, she woke without complaint for night feedings, had baby proofed her flat to ensure the child’s safety. Even with Mycroft’s limited experience in the area of childcare he could see that Molly was beginning to succumb to the pressure and strain. She was slower to smile, quicker to frown and her odd dark humour was absent.

Mycroft did what he could, and he was surprised at how much he was willing to do. A nanny was hired, after a deeper background check than most MI6 agents went through. Rosie was not impressed with the man, but his shifts did offer Molly more of a break than Mrs Hudson could. Amrit had been in the position for ten days when Molly sent a text asking if she could have a moment of his time. He’d rushed through a meeting and hurried to her flat. She was surprised to see him in person, insisting that she would have come to him to let him know how well Amrit was fitting in. He’d shrugged it off by pointing out it was by far easier to transport himself to her flat than expect her to transport Rosie across London. It had not occurred to him to call her, or to make her come to his office.

He found reasons to pop round more frequently, after a week Molly simply began setting a portion of whatever she was cooking for dinner aside for him. Rosie appeared happy to be held by Mycroft and would babble along as he read documents from work to her. She was certainly more interested in the official memos than some of his staff, although he did have to stop her chewing on them occasionally, (if Anthea was confused by his request for an analysis of potentially harmful chemicals in the ink and paper used by Whitehall she didn’t show it).

Their easy routine was disturbed one evening when Sherlock burst into Molly’s flat halfway through asking about a body in her morgue. He pulled up short when he saw his brother sitting on the sofa waving a stuffed elephant at Rosie. Sherlock had turned on his heel and bolted from the flat, Molly would have run after him, but Rosie began crying so she stayed, a fact Mycroft was eternally gratefully for, because he was not adept at dealing with a crying baby.

Four hours later a dishevelled consulting detective and his blogger stumbled into Molly’s flat, both sporting fresh bruises and a few blood stains. 

“Do you see John! Look at what you have done!”

John gave Sherlock a thump on the arm to shut him up, and then snapped a quick picture of Rosie curled up on the chest of a scowling Mycroft, whose arm was around a sleeping Molly Hooper’s shoulder.


End file.
